


Service with a Smile

by fatal_drum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alana is a student, Because I can't resist this syrupy shit, Bring me clichés, F/F, Hannibal is her advisor, Margot is a barista, Reba makes pastries, There will probably be more of this, Will is a barista too, all of them - Freeform, all the cliches, coffee shop AU, sexually suggestive espresso
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: Late for a meeting with her thesis advisor, Alana meets an unimaginably sexy barista and is pretty muchdoomed.





	

Swearing under her breath, Alana shoved the door to the cafe open, one eye on the late afternoon crowd, another on her phone. Eight minutes late for her meeting with her advisor. _What a fucking fantastic show of professionalism. A-plus work, Bloom._

To her shock, Doctor Lecter was nowhere in sight. She looked around again, then a third time. Not a scrap of paisley to be seen.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, letting her shoulders relax and adjusting the leather strap on her messenger bag. Café Ondatra was surprisingly welcoming, with charmingly rustic hardwood tables and plush chairs that seemed made for long afternoons reading in the sunlight. She ran her hand over the back of a wingback chair covered in deep red brocade. It was almost criminally soft.

Setting her bag on the seat to claim it, she walked to the counter, a long slab of beaten copper. A display case was filled with pastries, raspberry tarts, buttery croissants, and delicate madeleines.

“What can I do for you?”

Alana looked up and felt her mouth go dry.

The first thing she noticed was the mouth: soft, pouty lips the color of dried blood. Her skin was porcelain-pale, setting off a pair of clever green eyes. Her scarlet apron had the name _Margot_ embroidered in gold.

“I, uh—” Alana said intelligently.

Margot smiled, which made Alana’s heart race and other parts feel uncomfortably warm. Alana bit her lip.

“I, um. I don’t know a lot about coffee.” she admitted.

“That’s perfect. Neither do I.”

Alana stared for another moment before they both started laughing: Margot with a sound like a bubbling stream in a forest, Alana with awkward snorts and giggles.

“What do you like?”

 _You,_ Alana thought.“Um. Nothing too sweet, I guess?”

“I have just the thing for you,” Margot said. “A macchiato.”

Alana wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t those the frou-frou milkshake things from Starbucks?”

“We don’t say that name here,” a voice piped up from the back. Alana glanced up at the jet-haired woman poking her head out the kitchen door. “Also, Reba says we’re out of powdered sugar.”

“Thanks, Beverly.”

The woman winked and ducked back into the kitchen.

“Trust me, you’ll like it. Or your money back.” Margot smiled, and Alana found herself opening her wallet.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she read the text as she walked back to her chair.

 _Dear Alana,_ it read. _Please forgive me for the inconvenience, but I am experiencing an emergency with a patient and will need to reschedule. Regards, Hannibal Lecter._

She snorted. Leave it to Dr. Lecter to text as if he were writing a telegram. At least it gave her more time to tinker with her grant proposal. After shooting off a reply, she slid her laptop out of her bag, cracking her knuckles as she considered a particularly tricky bit of phrasing.

“Your macchiato,” a voice interrupted, “and your receipt.”

Alana looked up to see Margot holding a delicately wrought teacup on a saucer. Instead of white china, it was a deep, translucent red. Steam rose invitingly from the surface of the cup.

“Thank you,” Alana said, reaching to take the cup with one hand and to cram the receipt in her pocket with the other. The woman stood there expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to try it?”

Alana lifted the cup to her lips, then stopped. “Oh my god. I can’t drink this. It’s too beautiful.”

Somehow she had poured the milk so that it formed a rose on the surface of the coffee, delicate petals curling over a thorned stem .

“Beautiful things are meant to be tasted,” Margot murmured, eyes locked on Alana’s. She licked her lips, slowly and without looking away.

Heat bloomed between Alana’s thighs. _Two can play that game._ Settling back in the chair, she let her knees fall open, watching as Margot’s gaze was drawn up the fitted charcoal fabric of her slacks.

Pursing her lips, Alana blew on the foamy surface of the drink. A dollop of foam clung to the rim of the mug. She swiped at it with a fingertip, raising it to her mouth to lick it clean.

“Delicious,” she said, watching Margot inhale sharply. Finally, she raised the cup to her lips.

 _Fuck_ was her first thought. Followed by: _yes._ The coffee was hot and rich, with an earthy bitterness perfectly balanced by the thin layer of cream and a hint of—

“Honey,” Margot said.

Alana blinked, distracted from her haze of caffeinated bliss. “What?”

“I added a bit of honey,” she repeated. “For sweetness.”

Alana closed her eyes, taking another sip of the miraculous drink. She was pretty sure it had added months to her life and made her skin clearer. She would gladly _marry_ this coffee.

“If I drank this drink every day forever,” Alana said, “I would remember this time.”

Margot smiled. “So no refunds necessary?”

Alana shook her head, too blissful for words.

“Good,” Margot said. “I always aim for satisfaction.”

With that, she turned on her Louboutin heels and headed back to the counter. Her tailored skirt hugged the curve of her ass, and her stockings had thin black lines on the back that made Alana want to run her hands up them.

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Alana forced her attention back to her grant proposal.

An hour or so later, the coffee was gone, and so was Alana’s will to write. She glanced up at the counter. A curly-haired guy with glasses was taking orders with a bored expression on his face. She felt a stab of regret at losing any chance she had to get Margot’s number.

 _Nothing to do about it_ , she thought with a sigh.

 

* * *

 

Days later, Alana was sorting laundry when she felt something crinkle. Blinking, she reached into the pocket of her slacks and drew out a receipt with the stylized outline of a muskrat at the top. There was her order, with a code for a “friends and family” discount she didn’t remember being told about.

And at the bottom, three X’s and a phone number scrawled in red ink.


End file.
